


What do we say

by QuagmireQueen



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Closure for author, F/M, Fluff, Gen, I needed to write this, Jon is a good bro, Post-Battle of Winterfell, Spoilers, That episode though, arya is a badass, episode 8x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-09 19:23:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18644521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuagmireQueen/pseuds/QuagmireQueen
Summary: The immediate aftermath of the Battle of Winterfell. A scene which I feel will not be included in the show and so I had to have my take on it.Arya is the badassest badass who ever badassed and I love her.NEW CHAPTER: Jon finds Gendry on the battlements and gives him the bastards' shovel talk.(I couldn't let this lie)





	1. to the God of Death

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a fic in response to an episode or film immediately after watching it. I guess GoT just has this power. (Gendrya has been one of my favorite ships for so many years now I feel like I need to honour the fact that they made it canon)
> 
> Also I know I have some fics hanging for a few months but I finished a Masters' Thesis in the mean time so I'll get on it soon, I promise <3 
> 
> Love you all and I hope you enjoy this!

Arya shakes. Exhaustion, terror, adrenaline – it doesn’t really matter which is the cause of the powerful tremors wracking her body. She shakes so much that she can’t quite take stock of her own thoughts for a minute, overpowered by her own body’s violent reaction to the events of the night. The head wound really doesn’t help much.

When her thoughts finally still for a moment, she looks down at the hundreds of gleaming icy shards surrounding her crouched form.

_What do we say to the God of Death?_

 “Not today.”

The voice is not hers. Arya’s eyes shoot up and meet Bran’s empty gaze. No, not so empty after all. Bran isn’t… smiling exactly, but there’s a lightness in his usually vacant eyes that she’d not seen before.

“Did you know?” she asks and her voice is barely even a rasp. She reaches up to her throat and her skin there feels raw, painful. Every syllable coming out of her mouth stings like frostbite.

_Did you know it would be me? Is that why you gave me the dagger?_

Bran doesn’t reply (she’s not really too surprised by that any more), but he finally does smile, slowly, and Arya’s limbs seem to melt under her. She collapses to the ground unceremoniously and picks up some of the snow to put it over the lump on her head.

 _I need to find them_ , she thinks, willing her body to not abandon her now that the adrenaline of battle is gone. _Jon, Sansa… Gendry._

But before she can get up she hears frantic shuffling from the entrance to the Godswood.

“BRAN!”

And then Jon is there and he’s covered in blood and his eyes are wild but he’s _alive_ and in that moment she feels more like Arya Stark of Winterfell than she ever has before. Her eyes fill up with tears and her mangled throat lets out a relieved gasp.

He notices her immediately and then there’s tears in his eyes too.

“Arya.” He whispers and then she’s being crushed in his arms. Her wounds scream in protest but she knows that she has never felt this much relief in her life. “You’re alive, Arya, you’re—“

“The Night King is dead.”

Jon’s grip on her loosens and he looks up at Bran. Arya keeps her head down, suddenly feeling extremely tired.

“What happened? Theon?”

“He’s dead too.” Arya mutters and Jon’s gaze follows hers to Theon’s cold, unmoving frame. Jon lowers his head. “He died protecting Bran.”

“Then—?“

But before she can think of a way to describe what she’d done or what happened afterwards, another scuffle sounds behind Jon. They both turn to look back and Arya’s heart jumps before she can school it to submission. Her defences are too fragile after what they had been put through tonight.

The Clegane bastard strides in like he owns the place and behind him… behind him is Gendry. Their eyes meet for a moment and the look he gives her lets her know that no less than a thousand Night Kings would have to stand between them to keep him away from her.

Without consciously willing it, she finds her eyes inspecting every inch of him that she can see. He’s limping and there’s a deep gash in his left side but it seems to have been patched up well-enough. He’s covered in dirt and so much blood that he’s barely recognisable anymore. Barely, except for the bright blue warmth of his eyes, so unlike the deep dark voids that were set into the Night King’s face.

“The bitch is still alive.” Sandor huffs. “Guess these fuckers weren’t so tough after all.”

She realises that both men came to the Godswood immediately after the battle just to check on her. And if there was ever a moment in which she wished she could smile, this would be it.

“Arya.” Gendry whispers and it sends a small shiver of intense relief up her spine. She’s glad that Jon doesn’t notice it. The blacksmith looks ready to rush to her side but her brother’s protective arms on her shoulders hold him back.

“What happened?” Jon repeats, turning his gaze first to her and then to Bran.

“She killed him.”

The air seems to freeze for a moment as every single eye in the clearing turns to look at her. Arya avoids Jon’s gaze and takes a step away.

“I know death.” She says after a moment and looks up catching Gendry’s incredulous look. “Today I saw his face up close. Then I stuck him with the pointy end.”

The joke rings hollow in the silence of the Godswood. She can hear men yelling in the distance, probably trying to find survivors. Her insides suddenly feel cold.

“Arya—“ Jon begins and then, before her concussed head can quite catch up to what’s happening, she is being enveloped in the warmest, most bone-crushing hug she’d ever been in.

Gendry holds her like a dying man holds on to his last moments of life. She can hear his heartbeat through the layers of clothes and smell his familiar musk over the blood and dirt of battle, a smell that immediately throws her mind back to the night they’d shared just hours earlier. Arya closes her eyes and for the first time since her blade pierced the Night King’s stomach, she feels _warm_.

“M’lady.” He whispers into her hair and this time Arya doesn’t bother to hold back her tears.

Then someone behind her clears their throat and Gendry immediately loosens his grip, lifting his head up from where it rested on her hair.

“Of all the men in the world, you had to go and pick this one.” Clegane’s voice rasps and then he laughs.

“Gendry.” Jon says and even Arya has a hard time deciphering the emotion in his tone.

The man in question immediately lets go of her and steps back. She finally gets a good view of his face and there’s terror and embarrassment written all over it as he locks eyes with her older brother.

“Lord Snow—“

“Oh shut up.” She says before he can finish. Then she steps forward, grabs his shirtfront and pulls him down until his lips meet hers.

She can sense his shock for a moment but she only grasps harder and pulls him closer, desperate for the feeling of warmth that comes with his mouth on hers. Bedding him reminded her that in a life marked by death she could still enjoy brief glimpses of life and she’ll be damned if she lets anyone take that away from her.

When she finally lets him go, she can feel that he’s still tense but his gaze doesn’t leave her eyes for a moment as he grins and cups her cheek with softness that she doesn’t quite know what to do with. His hand settles on her neck where the Night King’s grip still burns and he frowns a little.

“I killed the Night King.” She says. “And now I’ve kissed a bull. If anyone has anything to say about that, they can do so after I’ve made sure my home is safe.”

She smirks at Gendry’s awestruck expression and sends Jon a pointed look. Her brother looks like he’s about to say something but then he shakes his head and nods, a small smile playing on his lips. Arya nods back, pats the Hound on his arm and walks away, her mind finally clear.

Once she’s left, Gendry clears his throat. “My Lord…”

“It’s alright, Gendry.” Jon says, smiling slightly. “I don’t think there’s a man or woman in the world that can make her do something she doesn’t want to do.” Then he pauses. “We _will_ talk about this.”

“Aye, Lord Snow.”

Sandor shakes his head. “Saviour of the bloody Seven Kingdoms. Always knew she was trouble, that one.”


	2. I'm a Dead Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon finds Gendry on the battlements and gives him the bastards' shovel talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of the first chapter because I got inspired, yet again. I also think my favourite trope is Jon giving Gendry a sort of brotherly shovel-talk.
> 
> Someone in the comments asked for this too so you can thank them for the inspiration :) 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this! Apologies but I wrote it in under an hour and did not bother to edit too much so I hope it's serviceable.

_I’m a dead man,_ Gendry thinks, not for the first time over the past two days.

Unlike the blood-soaked, blue-eyed screeching wights, however, Jon Snow promises a death that’s not nearly as swift or heroic. Gendry secretly thinks he’d have taken a dagger through the heart on the battlefield if it meant avoiding what’s about to happen to him.

“I’ve noticed that my beloved little sister, Saviour of Westeros, has taken an interest in you.” Jon says as they stare out over what remains of Winterfell’s battlements.

 _Yeah she has_ , he agrees in his head and feels an unstoppable tide of red begin to creep up his neck before he can do anything about it. _When Arya Stark takes an interest in you, it’s hard not to notice_.

Gendry had honestly just been minding his business when the Lord of the North startled him, helping clear out the dead and the rubble, lost in a daze of grief and delight. Grief for the sea of countless corpses littering every corner of the castle and delight at the image of Arya, alive and warm in his arms, telling him to _shut up you stupid bull, ‘course I don’t want to forget what happened before the battle. Stop being an idiot_.

“Aye.” He says, hoping that shorter replies will leave less space for saying something that might just get him thrown off the wall and onto the mountain of bodies below.

Jon doesn’t turn to face him but his eyes glance over sideways to catch Gendry’s.

“Care to explain how that happened? I do believe Arya once told me she’d rather ‘drown in a vat of cat’s piss’ than kiss a boy and yet I distinctly recall her doing exactly that yesterday in the Godswood. With you.”

Gendry’s face is deep purple.

“We’ve met before.” He says and this time Jon does turn to face him, surprise etched into his face. “We travelled from King’s Landing together. She was trying to escape Cersei and I… got sent away because I was a Baratheon bastard, though I didn’t know it at the time.”

“And you never thought to mention this?” Jon asks. There’s an accusation in his voice.

Gendry swallows, remembering his first meeting with the Lord of Winterfell and how he’d wanted to say something, _anything_. But he’d assumed the worst. Hell, he’d _lived_ the worst for all the years in-between his last moment with her and his arrival at Winterfell when he’d overheard whispers of a younger Lady of Winterfell, one that wore boys’ clothes and practiced fighting in the courtyard day and night.

“I thought she was dead.” He says and his voice is unsteady. “I couldn’t face you knowing that I hadn’t managed to protect her in the end, that I hadn’t looked for her after because I’d heard about the massacre at the Twins and I couldn’t—“ he stops, feeling his throat close up at the memory. He could not sleep for weeks after he’d heard of the Red Wedding. She may not have been his lover but even then she’d been his closest friend, the only one he’d ever really called ‘family’, if only in his head.

 Jon puts a hand on Gendry’s arm and the blacksmith looks up, surprised by the comforting act.

“I couldn’t either.” The Lord of Winterfell mutters quietly.

“She was the only family I’d ever had.” Gendry says after a moment. “I know I’m a bastard and a blacksmith and I understand if you want me to never see her again but…” he breathes in and steels his courage, turning to face Jon head-on. “… I don’t think I can bear to leave her behind a second time. I love her and I’ll not spend another day without knowing whether she’s alive or dead. I don’t care if you tell me that I can never touch her again, I just need to see her alive for as long as either of us draws breath. Please.”

Jon doesn’t reply for a while, his eyes a storm of emotions and his face serious. Gendry can feel tears prickling at the back of his eyes because even if he’s ready to never touch her again at Jon’s command, he knows he will feel like a man who’s lost his limbs if he can never wrap her in his arms again like the night before the Battle of Winterfell.

And if they try to send him away well… to hell with what Jon wants or what society demands. He’ll fight them all if that’s what it comes down to.

Then Jon gives a small chuckle and Gendry almost trips over his own feet.

“Gendry Waters, my sister would not have picked a man if he’d not been worthy of her. As long as you are her choice, I don’t think any of us have any say in it, regardless of your birthmother or background. She is the Saviour of the Seven Kingdoms, after all.” Jon smiles even wider then and turns to look out into the field where one of the dragons (Gendry has no idea how anyone can distinguish the beasts, they’re both equally terrifying to him) is being fed by the Targaryen Queen. “Besides, I understand better than you think what being a bastard in love is like.”

“But I’m just a lowborn—“

“Aye, and the only remaining heir of the Baratheon bloodline.” Jon interrupts him. “I’ll find a way to legitimize you if that’s what it comes down to. Arya, she’s… she smiled yesterday. I have barely seen her smile once since she’s returned to Winterfell. And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because she’d killed the Night King. From what I’ve seen of it so far, that’s been more of a discomfort for her than a blessing.”

Gendry does blush then, because she’s smiled at him quite a few times since he’d reunited with her, even if it wasn’t nearly as often as when she’d been a girl in a boy’s old rags.

“Thank you M’Lord.” He mutters and lowers his head gratefully.

“I know you’re a good man, Gendry.” Jon adds. “You followed me North of the Wall without question and you were the reason we made it back alive. I just wanted to make sure you knew who Arya Stark really was, what she means to me and Sansa. She called you family too, you know. When I spoke to her about you.”

Gendry’s head snaps up so quickly that he’s surprised he doesn’t break his neck. Something in his heart heats up so hot that he could forge Arya a bran new staff with it. Hell, he’d probably give the dragons a run for their money. Before he can think of what to say to that, however, a new voice interrupts them.

“Are you two done? I’m hungry.”

Gendry turns to see Arya leaning against the stone behind him, her impassive expression smirking at him without actually showing any emotions.

“Aye, we’re done.” Jon says and gives Gendry a powerful pat on the back before walking off in the other direction.

“Let’s go eat Gendry.” She says and he thinks _I love you. I don’t think I’ll ever find a way to make you understand just how much. I’ll keep trying._

“Yes m’lady.” He replies, just because he enjoys every reaction he gets from her every time he says it. To his surprise, she doesn’t hit him or glare at him but smirks instead, properly this time.

“I’m not the lady you should worry about. Sansa wants to talk to you after lunch.” She says. Then, after a moment’s pause: “She fed a man to his own hounds once.”

 _I’m a dead man_ , Gendry thinks.


End file.
